


Purple

by aseriesofessays



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Anorexia, Eating Disorder, F/F, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, i dont know my guy its like five in the morning i dont think ive ever slept, i dont know my man i project on my favorite characters, sleeping around??? is that a tag????
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-10-28 06:51:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10826022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aseriesofessays/pseuds/aseriesofessays
Summary: "I'll just drive you home," Veronica says, slipping out from under her friend and closing her eyes for a moment. "I have some corn nuts downstairs, if you want any?"Heather wrinkles her nose, and Veronica thinks of the sharp bumps in her spine. "God, Veronica, stop pushing," she snaps, voice cold.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't written fic in ages ANYWAY

There's something funny, she thinks, about being the person half the school models themselves after when you're more fucked up then all of them combined.

Well. Maybe that's an exaggeration- she knows Duke pukes up her guts in the bathroom every day, and she knows Mac has that damn bottle of pills that she carries around with her. To help her sleep, she says, and- whatever. Heather's icy, she's a bitch, and she tells herself she doesn't care.

And maybe that's the problem.

She cares too much- about her fucking macros, even, obsessively logging every food she eats on her phone- she can't eat in front of people, it makes her sick to her stomach, and her waist cinches in tiny under her mile-wide shoulders pads. There's 124 calories in a serving of Corn Nuts, and she weighs it out while Heather and Heather pretend not to look. She's fine with that.

(There's something satisfying in the burn in her stomach when it's completely empty, the way it collapses in on itself, the way her ribs and her hipbones are razor sharp against the counter some greasy college boy is fucking her.)

Red's her color- her lips, her blazer, her scrunchie, the blood on her thighs when she scratches at them with red, red nails.

She's perfect- Heather Chandler, bitch queen of the school. Her walk is confident and she talks like she expects everyone to bow down in front of her (and she does) and she fucks ten guys a week and rejects ten more (and she wishes she could reject them all but she has a /goddamn/ reputation to uphold, she's not a prude). Someone slaps her ass and she laughs when she wants to vomit (there's nothing to vomit) and sends him a wink.

She doesn't care.

\-----

She thinks it's ironic that when she meets blue her lips are purple under her ruby red lipstick- maybe they're meant to be, she thinks to herself, grinning desperately for half a second before she's fixing Veronica up. She wants her like air but she has a reputation to uphold and so she brushes out her pretty dark hair and ties it up in a blue scrunchie and tries not to stare as she swipes peachy lipstick over those full, nervous lips.

\-----

Veronica doesn't think she's perfect.

Heather can't decide whether she hates it or not.

\-----

There's something intoxicating about having someone actually look at you- not at the shoulder pads or the lipstick or her fucking tits, but her actual eyes. Heather makes hers stony in seconds but she thinks Veronica can catch a flicker of surprise (she's Heather Chandler, the school bicycle, no one really looks at _her_ ) because her mouth turns downwards. It's back to the normal half smile before Heather can ask- not that she would. She has a reputation.

And then it happens again, and again, and she wants to ask if this is going to be a _thing_ \- people don't just look her in the fucking eyes, not even teachers, not even her parents. They're scared of her or they're too busy staring at her ass, but Veronica just- like it's not a big deal. It takes a lot for Heather to snap, but eventually she can't take it.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she snarls, catching Veronica by surprise- they'd been talking, Heather can't really think about what.

"I- what?" Veronica says- she sounds a little desperate, which. Heather steels her shoulders, doesn't back down (does she ever?).

"Why are you _looking_ at me like that?" Her knuckles are white around her mallet, and her eyes are icy, and Veronica looks so confused that something in her pangs.

"Heather, I'm not looking at you like anything," she says, tugging on her blue blazer, and Heather wants to cry. She doesn't.

\-----

_(When Heather decides to really kill herself, it doesn't feel real. She's thought about it too many times._

_She puts on her eyeliner and her red, red lipstick, fixes the bow in her hair and tightens the chains on her blazer. She writes her note like she's dreaming- she thinks she might doodle on the margins._

_She tells Veronica that she loves her, and she's not made of strong enough stuff, and she tells Veronica that she wants to slice herself open on her bones, and tears drop onto her paper. Heather hasn't cried in years._

_She can't look Veronica in the eye at school the next day.)_

\-----

Veronica laughs and touches her waist and recoils, just a little, when she realizes that she's touching bones.

Veronica drags her home from a party when she's wasted and sore and aching all over and probably crying.

Veronica doesn't flinch, this time, when Heather gets up in her face and asks her what she's staring at, but Heather does- she hates this, that she's only known this girl for a few months and already she's broken down her barriers. Veronica holds her while she sobs and strokes her hair and tucks her in bed like she's a child. Heather doesn't talk to her for a week.

\------

(It's hard to think of Heather as perfect when she's crying into your arms, Veronica muses, smoothing honey blonde hair back into its bow and pressing a kiss to her brow. She's been shattering apart, lately, and Veronica can't help but worry.

"Hey, honey, sit up for me," she murmurs to her friend, taking her by her (fuck, it's so _tiny_ ) waist and helping her up. At least her tears are slowing down, but her eyes are wide and unfocused. "You feeling a little better? You want to eat something?"

"I'm fine," Heather snaps, but the venom in her voice is watery. Veronica swallows past the lump in her throat.

"Yeah, alright. You want to eat something anyway? I'll drive you home, after." Because Heather'd shown up on her doorstep for the third time this fucking week, mascara smeared and clothes mussed.

"Not hungry," Heather murmurs, shaking her head and trying to fix her hair. "I'll drive myself home."

"You don't have a car."

Heather looks surprised, for a second- she always does that, shows a split second of emotion before covering it up like it's not allowed. "Then give me your car."

"I'll just drive you home," Veronica says, slipping out from under her friend and closing her eyes for a moment. "I have some corn nuts downstairs, if you want any?"

Heather wrinkles her nose, and Veronica thinks of the sharp bumps in her spine. "God, Veronica, stop pushing," she snaps, voice cold.

Veronica doesn't push.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS A FILLER CHAPTER im sorry it's so short rip basically i want to keep working on it because i want 2 finish it but also like i have 2 figure out the plot im so bad at writing

Veronica sleeps over, camping out on the couch because Heather won't let her share the bed- which she can't understand, because all the Heathers pile on top of each other when they're asleep like a fucking puppy pile. Heather looks so small in the bed that Veronica's stomach hurts, and she wants to dress her back up in shoulder pads and heels just so she stops looking so fragile. Or spoon eggs into her mouth so her ribs stop looking like they're going to pop out of her skin. Or kiss her forehead again and again until she realizes that someone loves her.

It's all selfish. Veronica thinks and thinks and thinks about it until she cries, but Heather's face remains smooth and peaceful, for once. So maybe the best thing to do is let her sleep. She turns off Heather's alarm and draws the curtains and smooths a blanket gently over her, and doesn't care that she's skipping school. She'll pretend it's another Sunday, keep watch over Heather.

(She looks so small, tucked up in bed, that a tear smudges her math problem- there's no one in the house whatsoever, even though Veronica's been here for at least a day. She would've thought there would at least be a maid, but the house is huge and empty and silent as a grave.)

\---------------

The next day it's back to normal- Heather comes to school and sucks some boy off in the locker room when he shoves her head down, and when she gags around his dick he moans and comes right in her mouth. She swallows it- not like she can just spit it out, right on the floor- and brushes her teeth in the girl's bathroom- alone for once- and it's back to normal.

She goes to parties, fucks around with random boys- "Heather, god, you look so hot tonight- Heather, your skirt's so short, Heather, I want to see those pretty lips wrapped around my cock"- and it's easier to go along with it. When she comes out of the bedrooms, drunk and mussed up, led by college boys with their hands on her ass, she pretends not to notice the disappointment in Veronica's eyes. She brags she had four boys last night and giggles like it's a good thing, applying another coat of lipstick like it'll make her words true. She hasn't eaten in days but it's not like she needs to think anyway.

\-----

She's a pretty, pretty girl made of pretty, pretty bones, and she forgets how to think and breathe and be alive. She's a bitch so she snaps and she's a slut so she jerks off the football team, one by one, and she's going through the motions like it's a play. The scratches on her thighs get deeper but they don't care when they're fucking her, and they don't care that they're holding onto bones or that the body they're pressing into the mattress has empty eyes. Veronica asks if she's okay and she smiles with lipstick lips and doesn't answer.


	3. Chapter 3

Veronica's grateful for Heather's ridiculous shoulder pads, for once, because she's pretty sure that it's the only bit of padding Heather has on her.

It's scary, how pale she is- it's scary how she sways when she walks and it's terrifying that no one seems to notice. Lunchtime polls continue and Veronica wants to scream that Heather hasn't eaten lunch in months. She shadows Heather wherever she goes, sitting in on her fucking classes and ignoring everyone who calls her a dyke.

Heather doesn't even notice. Her grey eyes are empty and Veronica wants to rub warmth back into her fingers and toes and heart. She wants Heather to know how loved she is.

Maybe she is a dyke.

But Heather's her best friend, cruel as she can be. She hasn't been so cruel, lately- she hasn't been much of anything besides a shell. McNamara and Duke giggle and gossip like they don't even notice, and Veronica lets Heather lean absently into her like her subconscious is trying to warm her up. Veronica would do anything for Heather to eat a bite of anything- her stupid fucking corn nuts. A chocolate bar. She doesn't /understand what happened to her- Heather's never been fat, she's never even been fucking pudgy. She'd counted calories a bit but everyone in school does that. She's a walking skeleton and she doesn't even seem to care.

\---

She passes out in biology and Veronica carries her gently into the bathroom and coos at her until she wakes up, blinking like a little kid. She's so groggy Veronica's able to coax her to eat almost half an apple, the tears in her eyes brimming but not quite spilling over. It's fucking heartbreaking- no one notices, no one glances at Veronica lugging basically a corpse through the halls. Heather Chandler passed out and no one gives a shit. Heather Chandler won't eat and no one gives a shit.

Veronica is in love with Heather Chandler.

Maybe they'd talk about that. She bets they would. She bets they'd discuss it in the lunchroom loud enough for everyone to hear and giggle when Veronica rubs Heather's spine (her fucking spine, because there's hardly anything to get in the way) to coax her to please, god, just eat a few more bites. It's funny, isn't it, that being gay in Sherwood is more of a death sentence than walking through the halls like a goddamn skeleton and refusing to eat? Duke has been so sick for years and no one gives a shit. Veronica feels like throwing up just thinking about it.

That's the irony.

\---

"Heather, sweetheart, you need some help," Veronica says softly- Heather's curled up in her bed and Veronica's sitting against the wall, legs out in front of her.

"No," Heather mumbles. Her voice is dry and raspy and it hurts Veronica to hear it- she wouldn't've described Heather's voice as sweet a year ago but hearing it now would taste like honey.

Veronica sighs, feels sick and tired and weighted down. "You need help," she says, a little quieter. "You're wasting away and I love you so much. Please."

She doesn't think Heather even hears her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr is ilovemydeadgaywife.tumblr.com if u wanna follow me/send me prompts or smth


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this a filler chapter??? absolutely. is this me literally jsut projecting on Chandler??? totally!!! is this in any way progressing the plot? nope 
> 
> sorry y'all

Breathing feels like burning.

She knows, logically, that she's rich, and she has a cat, and that should be enough for her. She has boys who'd do anything to fuck her- hell, the whole school would do anything to fuck her, or be her friend. She bets some would pay money to touch her hair.

But breathing feels like burning, and her eyes are red from staring at her ceiling, and she's so very tired of being alive. It takes effort to lift a spoon to her mouth- god, the herculean strength of it. There are people who do it every day but pouring cereal feels like starting an avalanche, a helpless slide she can't control, and she's so tired. She was born too weak for the world, she thinks, and she coats herself in ice and stone to keep herself upright and ageless and smooth.

Ice can melt.

Stone can crumble.

She's a tomb left for years and years and years, forgotten, and the skeleton inside is grinning.

\---

_She's so tired, down to her bones, and she wishes she could breathe and live like a human. Sometimes she can, when she's with Duke and Veronica and Mac, she's joking and giggling but when she's alone cotton stuffs up her lungs and her head. She'll pinch absently at her stomach (still there still there still there shouldn't it be dust by now?) and she'll think about showering because Jesus it's been days, hasn't it? Her hair is in strands, separate and chunky, and when she closes her eyes she can imagine dying here and melting away to nothing. She sleeps and she doesn't, and summer is so lonely and so perfect._

\---

She has a wonderful life, objectively, and she hates herself, and she hates the venom that laces her words and she wishes wishes wishes she could die and give someone else this perfect life. They'd spend it better, do something with the money and the fucking popularity, and they wouldn't hate themselves and they would live.

\---

She's tired.

**Author's Note:**

> i'll probably continue this but u know. idk


End file.
